Post by Lunar Knite on Oct 10, 2010 1:05:43 GMT -5
Bus seats are always taken.
Sure, they might have space for one more
but there's always someone there already.
It'd be awkward to sit next to some random stranger.
It'd be like sharing your most intimate secret
in a musky old seat where the safety belts don't
even work. Getting close to them, like you're their partner
in bed. In crime. In the grime of the seats that you wish
were empty are filled with dirty lies. But there's no
place left to sit, so you're stuck on that soiled seat
until either you or they leave at the next stop.
But it's 35 long blocks away, you've counted, and
it becomes more and more uneasy by the minute
as the bus driver turns sharply making you slide
into your seatmate or they into you. When it speeds up
or slows down is not your choice, you only get to say
when you want to leave. And then you realize your seat
is at the hump of the wheel, and you feel every single bump
on the street. Every pothole you feel along with them,
every rock, stick, and piece of garbage that wheel runs over,
you feel with them. Both of your bottoms are undoubtedly sore
after all, you've just ridden through 35 blocks of bumps and bulges.
The bus stops at the bus stop and as people get off, you stay seated.
Next to your busmate, who apparently is waiting for different stop.
Or maybe, like you, wants to sit on that seat of dirty lies,
revealing the white padding underneath that has heard
all of our secrets since all the other seats were taken.
Sure, they might have space for one more
but there's always someone there already.
It'd be awkward to sit next to some random stranger.
It'd be like sharing your most intimate secret
in a musky old seat where the safety belts don't
even work. Getting close to them, like you're their partner
in bed. In crime. In the grime of the seats that you wish
were empty are filled with dirty lies. But there's no
place left to sit, so you're stuck on that soiled seat
until either you or they leave at the next stop.
But it's 35 long blocks away, you've counted, and
it becomes more and more uneasy by the minute
as the bus driver turns sharply making you slide
into your seatmate or they into you. When it speeds up
or slows down is not your choice, you only get to say
when you want to leave. And then you realize your seat
is at the hump of the wheel, and you feel every single bump
on the street. Every pothole you feel along with them,
every rock, stick, and piece of garbage that wheel runs over,
you feel with them. Both of your bottoms are undoubtedly sore
after all, you've just ridden through 35 blocks of bumps and bulges.
The bus stops at the bus stop and as people get off, you stay seated.
Next to your busmate, who apparently is waiting for different stop.
Or maybe, like you, wants to sit on that seat of dirty lies,
revealing the white padding underneath that has heard
all of our secrets since all the other seats were taken.
